


Relentless

by SoBeIt123



Series: Pathfinder [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cities Will Be The Size Of Actual Cities, F/M, I update tags as the story advances, I'm serious about the slow burn, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, It'll take a while, Not Beta Read, Not Following Quests To The Letter, Recovery, Same For Towns, Slow Burn, Taking Liberties With The Magic, The Dragonborn Will Not Do Everything, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27726551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoBeIt123/pseuds/SoBeIt123
Summary: Naya fully expected to die after her car tumbled into the bay. Instead she woke up in the chaotic land of Skyrim. With no way back home, she would have to forge her own path in this inhospitable world or die trying.Pathfinder rewrite
Relationships: Background Savos Aren/Mirabelle Ervine, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Pathfinder [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028065
Comments: 22
Kudos: 30





	1. The Worldstrider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter of the Pathfinder rewrite. I won't delete Pathfinder though, 'cause it was my first fic and I've got a soft spot for it.
> 
> This is still a Slowburn, but the romance will commence at the same timeline in this fic as it did in Pathfinder. Hopefully, it'll be better written this time around.
> 
> BTW, Descriptions of someone drowning in the first part of the chapter. If you wish to avoid that, go down to "Naya woke to the sound of bird call. "

###  **Naya I**

Naya squinted at the midday sun as she carefully made her way across the icy parking lot behind the restaurant she worked at. She rummaged through her purse as she walked and pulled out her inhaler. One one hand, the dead of winter was not a very hospitable time for her asthmatic self, but on the other, she had just finished a double shift, so the cold was pretty much the only thing keeping her awake.

She shivered violently as she slid into her car and started the ignition. She didn’t turn on the air - warmth, as much as she wanted it, would put her to sleep. She pulled out of the lot, and turned onto the street to start her journey to her small apartment.

In spite of her determination to stay alert, her mind drifted to other things. 

She couldn't say that she was particularly unhappy with the way her life had turned out. Considering the alternatives were staying with an uncaring family and the bastard that was her now ex-boyfriend, she would say that moving across the entire country to get away from them was the right choice, albeit an extremely dramatic one.

She was violently jolted into awareness as her car skidded, and began to tumble off the side of the road into the bay.

It happened too fast for her to register - she could recall the sound of the air bag unfurling, the explosion of pain as her head cracked against the window - before she blacked out.

She was brought out of it by the shock of the nearly freezing water of the bay.

Her first thought was of the eerie beauty of the sunbeams streaming into the clear waters. Her second was that her lungs were burning. Her throat spasmed as she tried to cough up the water she had reflexively inhaled but it was no use. 

In a startling moment of clarity, she realized that she couldn’t stop this. She was going to die here. So why was she raging against the unavoidable?

The fire in her lungs grew worse as she involuntarily inhaled the salty water once more.

She was dizzy, her vision beginning to fade as she started to lose her hold on consciousness. Her head was throbbing, the cold of the water was leeching her body heat away, but she felt strangely tranquil despite it all.

Naya surrendered to the darkness - there was no use fighting the inevitable.

* * *

Naya woke to the sound of bird call. 

She inhaled, and broke into a series of coughs as her lungs began to burn with a familiar sensation that heralded an asthma attack.

Wait. No. Not an asthma attack. 

Why the hell was she alive? She quite distinctly remembered drowning. Not that she was complaining.

Naya shifted feeling the soft texture of a bed? Sitting up with a jolt, she groaned in pain as the movement made her head throb. She put a hand to her head, expecting to feel the texture of a bandage, or stitches. There was nothing. Just smooth skin.

Starting to feel a little disturbed, she started to observe the room she was in. It was small, but rather cozy. The bed she was in was situated against a wall, by which was a worn nightstand with peculiar pink and green bottles on it. Her gaze traveled along a few more pieces of furniture - a small table with chairs, a bookshelf filled to the brim - until it came to rest on a paneless window, with the light of the dual moons streaming through it. 

Dual Moons?

Oh no. No, no, no. 

She had to be hallucinating. Maybe she was seeing double.

Almost as if to mock her disbelief, what seemed to be Aurora Borealis appeared in the sky as she stared at the moons. Northern Lights. A thing that only tended to appear if one was in the far North or South and, judging by rather lush grass, warm air, and was that a goat she just saw?, she was definitely in neither of those places.

The door opened, startling Naya out of reverie. A slender woman with dark hair and pointed ears walked in. The woman - _elf?_ _what the actual fuck was going on?_ \- had a bowl of soup in her hand.

The woman said something that Naya did not understand.

That did it. She had no idea where she was, but it certainly wasn’t home.

* * *

Over the next few weeks Naya had achieved some rudimentary form of communication with her host who she found was named Yaevis. Fortunately, it seemed that common Cyrodillic - the language that she spoke- had some marked similarities to English. 

Naya was in a land called Skyrim that was in the realm of Nirn. Her host was a Bosmer, one of the ten races of this country. And race apparently meant species, not a division based on some outward characteristic.

Yaevis proved to be an extraordinarily kind woman. As she nursed Naya to health she had offered her home as a place to stay until Naya could get her bearings. She had even begun to equip Naya to survive in this new world that was far less technologically developed than was she was used to.

Bowhunting, alchemy, some dagger wielding - Yaevis taught her a bit of all of it. Naya honestly didn’t know what she would do without her. 

Well, she did know where she would be without her. Dead.

There was also the magic. Holy shit, magic was real and Naya had felt like an eight year old when she had discovered that. She couldn’t use too much of it - something about lacking a true connection to Aetherious - but she had enough to do Alchemy, and honestly, just seeing it was enough. 

Naya was brought out of her thoughts as her host placed a plate of food in front of her.

“Thank you, Yaevis” 

The language felt awkward on her tongue. As far as those marked similarities go, it was about as close to English as Spanish was. So, not the hardest transition, but certainly not easy. 

As Naya picked up her fork, a thought occurred to her. Yaevis was giving her so much - shouldn’t she do what she could to repay her?

The words came to her tongue haltingly. She still had a ways to go to mastering Cyrodillic.

“Let me cook for you.”

Yaevis looked up at her in slight surprise, unused to hearing her initiate conversation.

“Naya, that’s really not necessary - “

Naya shook her head at her host's words, determined to get her way. “I like cooking. You gave me so much - I want to give back.”

Yaevis considered her for a moment longer, her hawklike gaze piercing in the evening light.

“If you really want to, then yes.”

A victorious smile crossed Naya’s face as she dug into her meal.

* * *

They fell into an easy pattern. In the morning Naya would make breakfast out of whatever Yaevis had hunted down the day previous. Over breakfast, Yaevis would answer her questions about Tamriel and help her with her Cyrodillic. After breakfast they would go out to hunt for game and gather ingredients to use or sell to passersby . In the evenings they would eat dinner, and Naya would continue her lessons on Alchemy. All in all it was a quiet, simple, life.

However, the question remained. Why was Naya here? Who or what had sent her here? - And most importantly, would she ever be able to find her way home?

Despite Yaevis’s kindness, despite the beauty of her surroundings, and despite the wonderful simplicity of the life Naya was living, she wanted to return home. To her quiet apartment, her job at the restaurant, to her few friends, and the family members she was still on speaking terms with. She had never realized how much she had in her life, the privileges she enjoyed just by existing in a world that she could truly feel that she belonged, in a world that she called home. Even with all that she had been given, Naya found that she almost resented being here. 

To be perfectly honest, that resentment made her feel terrible. As though she was spitting in the face of Yaevis' kindness. She felt ungrateful for the blessings she had in this world as well. So she buried the emotion, and never let it show. 

So, as the months went by, their easy pattern remained and Naya’s discontent grew.

* * *

It was at night when their pattern ended. A dark night, with the moons veiled in clouds so black that they appeared to be shadows. 

Naya was humming to herself as she carefully picked her way back to the cottage, using the slivers of moonlight peeking from behind the thick clouds to see. She had snuck out of the house to fill a flagon of water to make a late night drink.

The wind picked up, and Naya froze, hearing a sound. 

She set down the flagon, and sunk into the shadowy bushes as she cautiously approached the cabin. She peered through the foliage just in time to see a heavily armored woman cut Yaevis down. Naya hurriedly clasped a hand to her lips to keep her horrified cry from escaping as tears sprang to her eyes. There were more bandits around the woman, some going into the cottage and others starting to look around the area. Naya knew that she should try to run, but she was frozen, staring at the remains of her only friend in this world. 

That woman had taken her in, clothed her, fed her, had been her only constant, and now she was dead.

The grief rose in Naya’s chest like the tide as she shook off her petrification and slowly started to creep away.

It was too late. 

A hand roughly grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to the nordic woman, pushing her roughly onto her knees in front of her.

“Well, well. It's my lucky day.” 

Naya struggled against her captor’s bruising grip as a magelight from one of the bandit’s illuminated the bandit leader’s features. She lay a rough hand against Naya’s cheek, clearly enjoying the revolted recoil that it provoked.

“You will be coming with us”

Naya felt the peculiar sensation of magic invading her body as she was lulled into unconsciousness.

* * *

Once again, Naya awoke. 

This time not to birdsong and moonlight, but to the drip of water and the damp smell of must. 

Looking down at herself, Naya was nauseated to find that one of the bandits must have changed her from her tunic to threadbare rags. She ached all over, her head most of all. She could feel a bruise forming on her arm from where that man had grabbed her. Sitting up on the cold, stone floor she stared into the musty hallway through the bars of her cell.

Tears formed in her eyes as she began to mourn the loss of the kindest woman she had ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly the same, but I wanted Naya to be less of a blank slate this time.


	2. The Dragonborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 is where the real rewrite begins. The first four are going to be rather similar to Pathfinder. I'm going to try to update this every Friday.

###  **Relthreyn I**

In hindsight, crossing the border to Skyrim during said country’s civil war was an incredibly stupid decision. An incredibly stupid decision that he was about to pay for with his life. The universe apparently had other plans, because an enormous, terrifying _dragon_ of all things landed on Helgen’s tower, causing the executioner to stumble back from the chopping block his head was on.

The Dragon’s intelligent eyes seemed to linger on him for a brief moment before it _Shouted._

Relthreyn could not recall what happened between the dragon’s Shout and his escape through Helgen Keep. For those brief moments, he was simply a part of the chaos.

* * *

This was apparently his month for making stupid, potentially life-ending decisions, because he was desperately clinging to the head of a dragon, frantically searching for a weak spot that he could drive his sword into.

As he clinged to the blistering hot horns and scales of the beast, Relthreyn made a mental note to sacrifice to Azura for gifting his race with their inborn resistance to fire. With the remainder of his strength, he forced the unnaturally sharp edge of his Bound Sword through the scales atop the dragon’s skull in a quick, violent motion.

He heard the dragon thundering out it’s last words - _Dovahkiin? Nid! -_ as it collapsed, defeated.

Relthreyn fell from the dragon’s corpse, injuries beginning to make themselves known. Dragonfire could penetrate even the inborn resistance of the Dunmer, it seemed. He forced himself up to retreat from the body of his foe when his surroundings became flooded by golden fire.

The sensation that followed was...indescribable. It was as if he had been overcome by a voracious hunger that could only be sated by whatever had fled from the dragon - no, Mirmulnir. It felt as though something within him had not awakened, per say, but had slotted into place.

He stared, shell shocked, at the now skeletal remains of Mirmulnir - _Allegiance-Strong-Hunt, he_ **_knew_ ** _, how did he know?_ \- , the whispers of a war-chant echoing in his mind, cries of Dragonborn on the tongues of awestruck men, he knew that his decision to come to Skyrim was merely the beginning of a journey that was longer and far more harrowing than he could have ever imagined.

* * *

He was to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. 

That was why he was in this damnable Nordic ruin crawling with draugr and Azura knows what else because, apparently, that's what it takes to be the Dragonborn.

As he crept through the ruin, his mind went back to the summons, the mighty cry of **‘DOV-AH-KIIN’** that shook the landscape. He was still in quiet awe in the power of the Greybeards, of how they could shape the world with merely the power of their voices.

Maybe Voices would be more appropriate. The power of the Thu’um.

He had only shouted once, at the Western Watchtower, but ever since then it was as if something inside of him had changed. That presence within him had stirred at the defeat of Mirmulnir and at the cry of the Greybeards, a kind of instinctual aggression against those who had cried out his name. He had wanted to find those who had dared challenge him, to do battle, to dominate. This ruin had brought those urges to the fore as well. That wall engraved with jagged markings, it had called to him with that war-chant, and much like with Mirmulnir he had somehow absorbed something from it. 

**Feim**. 

_Fade._

He knew the word, but there was the feeling of something missing, something more that he had yet to acquire before he truly understood it.

Those urges, that seemed so foreign yet were so instinctual, those more than anything convinced him that there was something to the Dragonborn business that everyone was going on about.

 _‘Dragonborn or not’_ He thought as he flambéed a skeleton, and in one fluid motion turned to behead the dragur that was trying - and failing - to sneak up on him. _'This is absolutely ridiculous'_

Undead vanquished, Relthreyn observed the structure in front of him. There were a series of stones with odd looking markings engraved onto them, behind which were a series of gates with no discernible lever or pull chain around them. Now, being a veteran adventurer, Relthreyn figured that the stones had something to do with opening the doors. However, because he was, in fact, a veteran adventurer, he knew that there was a chance that the stones were a trap of some kind. In short, there was no way in Oblivion he was going anywhere near those things until he knew what they did.

Bending down he grabbed the charred skull of the rather unfortunate skeleton from earlier and tossed it between the stones. They lit up an eerie red, gates lifting in accordance to each light. They immediately shut when the glow faded.

It seemed that speed was of the essence here. Fortunately, he had just the thing.

Taking a moment to brace himself, he Shouted.

“ **WULD”**

* * *

He had to hand it to the ancient Nords, incredibly vexing ruins or not, their architecture was astounding.

The pillars, intricately carved and detailed rose from the water on some invisible signal, lined the pathway leading to the stately resting place of the founder of the Greybeards as if it were an honor guard. The grave itself was a work of art, mighty dragons hewn into the stone under an engraved inscription in some ancient tongue, a stone hand rising from the apex. It was awe inspiring.

Not awe inspiring enough to keep him from looting absolutely everything that wasn’t nailed down but magnificent nonetheless.

In the rather artfully sculpted hand there was a . . . note?

_Dragonborn--_

_I need to speak with you. Urgently. Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I’ll meet you._

_\-- A friend._

The paper went up in a surge of magical flame. He had just wasted Azura knows how much time for a **note.**

Quickly locating the exit, Relthreyn stalked out, irritation surrounding him like a flame cloak.

He **really** hated Nordic ruins.

At least he had gotten good loot out of this whole fiasco.

* * *

Delphine was a paranoid woman with the personality of an incredibly pissed off Spriggan Earth Mother. Judging by the fact that she wanted him to go Kynesgrove to slay a dragon after making him trek across Skyrim due to _her_ interference with _his_ initiation, his opinion wasn’t going to change anytime soon. 

No way was he making that trip with her, he’d probably try to kill her in her sleep or poison her food out of sheer irritation.

Personality aside, Delphine was an excellent warrior. 

She had shown up to Kynesgrove unscathed from the no doubt dangerous journey and barely even faltered at the sight of Alduin who was somehow even more terrifying to behold when he was resurrecting a dragon as opposed to destroying a town. The sheer power needed to defy the grasp of death itself, to restore flesh, even if the soul hadn’t technically been severed from the body was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

He was supposed to fight that?

Without false modesty, Relthreyn knew that he was no slouch when it came to combat, but Alduin was a god, the first born of Akatosh himself. How on Nirn was he supposed to best that?

He forced his thoughts away from his future and focused on the present.

Alduin he wasn’t sure about, but Sahloknir he could fight.

The ensuing battle was hectic to say the least. 

Between trying frantically to keep the dragon away from Kynesgrove proper, and trying even more frantically to not die, he, Delphine, and the guards had their hands full. But in the end, they prevailed.

Now that he was aware of what he was, and therefore had a better understanding of what dragons were, Relthreyn honestly thought that it was a shame that he had to kill such majestic beings. The ones that were aggressive he would kill, and the ones that were peaceful he would avoid. Born Dragon Hunter or not, he was no genocidal maniac, and he had no intention of becoming one. 

He braced himself for the the golden rush of the dragon's soul as the being shuddered through his death throes.

Sah - Lok - Nir

_Phantom - Sky - Hunter._

And the ones that he would kill, he would at least honor by remembering. 

* * *

**"Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau. Naal Thu'umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth. Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok. "**

He felt as if he were being shaken to pieces by the power of their Thu’um. But they acknowledged him, they believed in him, and that more than anything gave him the fortitude to withstand it. To have the recognition of a respected order such as the Greybeards was no little thing, and he wanted to surpass their expectations.

So he endured, and he overcame.

* * *

Delphine wanted him to infiltrate **where?!**

Forget Spriggan Earth Mother, she was a thrice damned Dremora.

* * *

“Delphine.”

“What?”

“I set the Thalmor Embassy on fire.”

“ _What._ ”

* * *

As it turns out, getting so angry that you absolutely lose your temper, calling upon The Wrath of the Ancestors in the process, and proceeding to use said Wrath to incinerate any and all in your path while in a partially wooden building, is an absolutely terrible idea. 

He had retrieved all the information needed and freed that unfortunate Imperial man, so at least some good came out of it.

Relthreyn had thought that he should disappear for a while, and cut off contact from Delphine until the heat - pardon the pun - died down a little. 

He didn’t like Delphine, but he didn’t actually want her dead. Yet.

Surprisingly, Delphine agreed with him and told him that she would contact him when it was safe. Well, safer. After all, he did just burn down the Thalmor Embassy. After a stunt like that they were going to despise him until the end of time.

Couldn’t have happened to a better organization.


	3. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonists meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where the tags 'implied/referenced rape/non- con' and 'implied/referenced torture' come into play. If you would wish to skip it, go down to 'Naya knew it, and the elven woman knew it as well.' There will be a summary of the plot relevant parts of the sections previous in the end chapter notes.

###  **Naya II**

Naya had no true idea of how long she had been here. The only way to gauge time was by the meals. She had been here for 24 of them.

A mage whom she assumed was Sindrion had been very excited to see her. He had cast . . . something on her. A very painful something. He became very excited afterwards, saying something about her ‘unique lack of connection to Atherious’ that she was a ‘rare specimen’ and how it was ‘vital to his research that they not kill her’. 

She wasn’t sure whether to be thankful for that or not. 

She clung to thoughts of home. Of the life she had forged due to the kindness of Yaevis, and of the times from her true home that she still yearned for. Yaevis was gone, but her original world was not. It was still there, and if it was there she may be able to return to it, provided that she survived. That more than anything gave her hope.

There were other prisoners besides herself whom she had noticed after her initial outpouring of grief. One, a sickly dark-haired Bosmer woman lay in the cell across from her. She had died three meals in, though she’d passed peacefully in her sleep. Naya couldn’t bear to look at her corpse - it was like seeing Yaevis all over again.

There were two others, a skeletal Dunmer woman, and a Breton man who wasn’t in much better condition. Their conditions weren't helped by the bandits, who didn’t leave them to rot in their cells. No, they came by often to ‘sample their goods’ as they called it.

She was lucky, in a way, that she was a ‘rare specimen’. It meant that they were slightly less brutal on the occasions that they decided to ‘sample’ her.

Being on the receiving end of their attentions was bad enough, but she found it worse to watch. Well, listen. She always closed her eyes when it happened.

Though she felt disgusted with herself at the thought, Naya was glad that the Bosmer had passed so quickly. At least the mer didn't have to suffer any longer. Naya had to witness to what was inflicted on her fellow living prisoners, but didn’t know if she’d be able to bear witnessing it happen to the Bosmer.

Her attachment to the dead mer made her feel wretched. She only felt a connection to the dead woman because of her likeness to another person, not because of who she was in life. Whoever she was, she deserved to be cared for because of who she was not who she resembled.

* * *

The two bandits that came most often were the Chief - the Nordic woman - and an Argonian male. They had murdered the Dunmer and the Breton after the 28th meal. Soon after their death, but before the 29th meal, a regal looking Altmer woman was thrown into the cell next to her's. The Altmer, from what she had heard from Sindrion, was also to be kept alive as she was ‘vital to his research’ like herself. 

The regal Altmer was originally defiant, saying something about some kind of dominion, but she became more subdued as meals went on. The mer was given some kind of dark, viscous, liquid that she was made to drink with every meal. 

Eventually growing desperate for some kind of contact that wasn’t going to lead to violence, Naya would reach out a hand through her bars in an attempt to give some kind of comfort to someone, and to maybe receive some in return.

Eventually, the Altmer reciprocated. 

When there was no one around they would clasp hands as if they were a life line. It was a heady experience, to feel a touch that was not a precursor to pain.

Naya never spoke. Her voice had died five meals in. She had quickly realized that her captors were sadists of the worst kind. The more she expressed pain, the more excited they would become. Out of defiance she forced herself to stay silent. Her voice was one of the few things that she still had, and she would deny them any part of herself that she could. And it worked. It grew worse, as she thought it would, but she was left alone more often in the end. But eventually she just couldn’t speak - her words would die before they were born.

At first it had been the only means of protection she had. Now, it was just another thing that had been stolen from her.

The Altmer did speak. She spoke in a whisper, never seeming to want verbal acknowledgement. She spoke of her life before this, of home, of random stories, of magical theories, of anything really. 

She liked to think that her silent presence was as much as a comfort to the Altmer as the other woman's voice was to her.

* * *

Forty-Four meals in something changed.

Sindrion became more excited. He moved Naya and the Altmer woman into the same cell, and insisted that the bandits come around less. Naya was no mage, but it seemed as if he was trying to take something from the Altmer and transfer it to Naya herself. Judging by his excitement, he had reached a breakthrough.

The Altmer looked more pale and wane as time went on, like her very vitality was being drained from her.

Finally, Sindrion had them moved to a rather elaborate room that seemed as if it were set up for some kind of ritual purpose. There was a very detailed pentagram drawn on the floor, with soul gems placed in and around it with some kind of order that she could not discern. The Altmer woman took one glance at it and looked horrified so she clearly had some idea of what was to happen.

The ritual that followed was invasive and painful. It was not a pain found in the body, though it was affected as well, but one of the soul. It was as if something was battered their way inside of her most fundamental parts and rearranged them to their liking.

Naya could detect no discernible change of her body and mind, but her soul, her very life-force, had been warped and changed. 

* * *

The Altmer was dying.

Naya knew it, and the elven woman knew it as well.

* * *

They had just finished their 49th meal -if the scraps they were given could even be called that- when the Altmer woman spoke. 

“I’m certain that most of them are asleep”

What? Why did that matter? The woman gestured for her to stand back. The Altmer’s hand became white hot flames, strangely silent flames with no tell-tale crackle or hum that she now knew usually came with magic, and she melted the lock on the cell.

If she could do that, why hadn’t she escaped sooner? 

At Naya’s questioning look, the woman spoke.

“They stopped giving me magicka poison after the ritual. Probably thought I was too weak to cast spells. Come. I’m getting you out of here”

Naya grasped her extended hand, and the women crept through their prison intent on escape. Their prison was strangely empty, at least until they reached the last room. 

It was full of bandits.

The Altmer woman pulled Naya into an alcove and cast a sort of spell with a pale blue radiance on the both of them.

“I am going to distract them, and you are going to run.”

No! They were going to leave together, she wouldn’t leave the other woman to her death!

At Naya’s mutinous look the Altmer spoke in a hushed, impassioned whisper.

“We both know that whatever that mage did is going to kill me. It's taking all I can to cast spells right now, and even if I weren’t, I would still insist on saving you. You have shown me kindness when you could have ignored me, reached out to give me comfort, and gave me a presence to lean on. I am dying, and I want you to live. So listen to me and run.”

At Naya’s stunned acquiesce the Altmer smiled grimly.

“So here is what we are going to do…”

* * *

Cloaked in an invisibility spell, Naya crouched in the shadows of the lively room, awaiting the other woman’s signal.

A fireball screamed across the room, impacting with the head of a lightly armored bandit, killing her instantly.

The Altmer woman strode into the room, shimmering with an odd sort of radiance. All hell broke loose as Naya crept towards the door for freedom.

She kept her eyes on her destination, determinately ignoring her Altmer's last stand. She would honor her friend's wish and live. She would grieve once she was free.

* * *

It was near the mouth of the cave when things went wrong. Naya’s invisibility spell broke, revealing her form to the bandits. 

As she sprinted desperately towards the semi-barricaded exit, she realized with a pang that her friend must be dead. The spell was supposed to last for five minutes, and it had only been four.

Naya sprinted past the barricade, bandits hot on her heels, arrows and the occasional spell narrowly missing her, seeking the woods where she stood a chance at losing them.

She burst through the treeline and bowled straight into the chest of a man. She looked to meet a rather irritated pair of glowing red eyes.

Shit.

The man’s - Dunmer’s - mouth opened before his head shot up at the cries of the bandits. An expression of realization stole across his face.

“Were you running from them?”

Nay nodded vigorously, a vague feeling of hope budding in her chest despite herself.

“Bandits?”

She bobbed her head again. The Dunmer nodded, seemingly coming to a decision. Void-dark power gathered in his hands.

“Stay behind me.”

Naya scrambled off the ground to find some cover, and the man summoned a bow made of an ethereal purple energy. He quickly notched and fired an arrow into the throat of an approaching bandit. Said bandit collapsed with a gurgle as the Dunmer smoothly dodged an ice spell and returned fire with his bow, expertly picking off the remaining three bandits.

He angled his body towards her, bow still in hand.

“There are more inside.” 

It was more of a statement than a question.

For a third time, Naya nodded.

The man inclined his head in acknowledgment and strode into the bandit encampment.

After a beat, Naya slowly lurched onto shaky legs and followed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naya is taken captive by bandits and is essentially a lab rat to a mage named Sindrion. She manages to befriend an unnamed Altmer woman who is also a lab rat. Sindrion does something involving Naya and the Altmer woman that gives Naya the sense that something about herself has been fundamentally changed.


	4. Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why Relthryen is where he is and retribution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got wisdom teeth taken out and I'm gonna be knocked out by pain meds soon so I'm posting this a bit early as opposed to my usual Fridays at 12:30ish AM.
> 
> If there are glaring errors please tell me 'cause I most likely missed some.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

###  **Relthreyn II**

Of all the habitats and terrains he had travelled through in his life, Relthreyn would say that mountainous regions were near the bottom of the list for him. He was no Nord - high altitudes and low temperatures were not a combination that he found particularly appealing. Of course, he grew up wandering the often scorching volcanic islands of Morrowind, so he would say that he had a good reason for disliking his present location in the mountains near Dragon Bridge.

But he digressed. Exactly why he was in the vicinity of Solitude and partially destroyed Thalmor Embassy instead of literally anywhere else in Skyrim was a rather complicated story.

He had been making his way to Riften by way of Ivarstead to lay low for a while, but his terrible luck had reared its ugly head. He managed to run into a Thalmor Patrol and a Frost Dragon at the same time. After narrowly avoiding death for what had to be the millionth time after setting foot in this country, he promptly bolted south with the remains of the patrol on his heels, managed to ditch them by throwing a weak firebolt at a mammoth and letting said patrol suffer the consequences, and then backtracked towards Hjaalmarch in an attempt to throw them off his scent.

After all, the Hold of Hjaalmarch was the stupidest place for him to go, so it would most likely be the last place they would look. If he could avoid the normal patrols, that is. 

He was still going to try to go to Riften due to the lack of Imperial sentiment in that particular hold, but he was going to take an incredibly roundabout path to get there. 

Between the lack of love for the Empire, the lesser racist sentiment, and the greater criminal element in the city, he should be able to disappear, provided that he had enough coin or skill.

He ducked into a grove of trees when he heard the roar of a dragon. That was the other bad thing about his location - dragons loved mountains. And he did not want to get into a fight with a dragon. Dragonborn or no, fighting the magical reptiles was very difficult and he was trying to avoid drawing attention to himself.

It was strange, having the nature and instincts of another species underneath his skin. It felt so foreign and at the same time so right. As time when on these new aggressive urges to possess, to hoard power, to grow stronger began to feel as natural as breathing. As he grew accustomed to it, the more comfortable he began to feel. He had felt as though he were missing something about himself for his entire life, and when his more draconic nature began to awaken, he had gained that missing piece.

It scared him. Not because he had new instincts, but because giving into them felt so good.

There were very few things in life that Relthreyn valued more than his self-control. He'd always had issues with controlling his temper, and it had taken him a very long time to gain some form of mastery over it.

Awakening his nature as Dragonborn had shattered that control.

He'd realized there was a problem after he met Delphine. He didn't like the woman, not by any means, but he wasn't generally so quick to go from mere distaste to outright loathing.

It was the incident at the Embassy that clued him into how bad it really was. He had become so angry that he had involuntarily used his Wrath, something he hadn't done in over a century. Every Dunmer, be them male or female, young or old, had to have control over it. It was a useful weapon, but a dangerous one.

For all that their culture was reserved and distant, the Dunmer were very passionate people, and the Wrath was a reflection of that. The Ancestor's Wrath was a culmination of all the pain, anger, and passion, of the hot-blooded feelings that one usually restrained given form into fire that would burn all in its path. People, buildings, ward spells, it didn’t matter. It could be devoured by the flame. The more passionate one was the more powerful the flames were, and the more discipline you had the longer the flames would last. To use it at its most powerful, a perfect balance was needed.

He already hated the Thalmor, but to see their atrocities himself, to read how they treated those that they perceived as ‘lesser’ and then to fight them, to have them challenge him?

He had lost it. And it had felt right.

That was the other reason he was in these mountains. To regain some measure of control.

* * *

He was nearing a series of caves by a heavily wooded area, when he heard a commotion in the distance. He could hear the rather crass yells of people -probably bandits- as they pursued something.

Warily, he raised his hands to summon a fire spell, but the magic sputtered out of existence when a small form barreled directly into his chest. He staggered back a step. Irritated, he looked down, some scathing comment on the tip of his tongue, before his head snapped back up as the cries of the maybe-bandits grew nearer.

He looked back down. 

It was a woman.She appeared to be a Redgaurd, albeit a very petite one. She was very thin, with black hair in tangles around her face. She was staring up at him, copper eyes wide with terror.

She must be the ones the bandits were after. 

“Were you running from them?”

The woman shook her head in confirmation.

“Bandits?”

She nodded again, curling into herself at his words.

The embers of rage began to smolder in his chest. There were few that he despised more in the world than bandits. He began to gather magic for a Bound Bow.

“Stay behind me.”

The woman scrambled behind him as he cast the Bound Bow and shot an incoming bandit in the heart, killing her instantly. He then sidestepped an Icy Spear and shot the caster in the throat. There were two more rapidly approaching him, one with a greatsword and the other an idiot with a spluttering fire spell. What was he trying to do, set the woods on fire?

He shot greatsword bandit in the knee making him fall with a cry of agony, ignored the pathetic attempt at Flames from idiot bandit, and finished both off with some well-placed arrows to the heart. Only four? He would think that there would be more than that chasing after an escaped prisoner. In his experience, bandits tended to be a bit more motivated than that.

He turned back to the woman who was peering at him from behind a tree.

“There are more inside.”

For the third time the woman nodded. 

Relthreyn strode into the cave that served as the bandit encampment. After a few moments, he heard a rustle in the foliage as the woman followed him.

* * *

He cautiously picked his way around the bandits’ fortifications, careful to keep himself within the silent woman’s eyesight. 

He slowed down slightly when the feeling of powerful magic hit his senses, but stopped entirely when he caught the all too familiar scent of burnt flesh. He took a moment to brace himself before entering the first area.

Now he knew why there were so few bandits chasing after the woman. It looked as though an explosion had gone off in the center of the room.

The walls were scorched, and the corpses were not in much better condition. In fact, there was still smoke rising from the semi- molten armor covering the bodies. The room itself was steeped in magic, though. Whatever spell had been cast here was nothing to scoff at.

Two of the corpses, that of a male Argonian and a female Nord, looked especially ravaged. The woman who he still didn’t know the name of approached the center of a room, where the strangely pristine remains of an Altmer lay. She was dressed in rags, much like the nameless women.

A fellow prisoner, then. Most likely the one responsible for the destruction they were in the midst of. The residual power in the room was most dense where her body lay. 

A stricken expression crossed the woman's face at the sight of her. She kneeled beside the Altmer, and gently brushed her eyes shut. In contrast, a look of vindictive satisfaction appeared when she beheld the rest of the room, eyes lingering on the Nord and Argonian.

“She was a friend of yours?” 

The woman jolted, a deer-in-bow sight look on her face.

“The Altmer, she was your friend.” At her confirmation, he continued, “We will bury her once we are done here.”

A look of gratitude appeared on her pallid features. 

As they made their way through the encampment, the halls began to grow brighter allowing Relthreyn to get a better look at his temporary companion. She was thin, far too thin to be able to make it through Skyrim without some kind of assistance. Her face and what he could see of her arms held bruises and what appeared to be lightning burns that were all in various stages of healing. His anger flared hotter his chest when her hair and tattered clothes shifted with another one of her movements revealing marks of a different kind.

He would never be able to continue with a clear conscience if he didn't see her to some kind of competent healer.

His silent companion seemed to pale as they arrived by a heavy wooden door. 

“Would you like to wait out here?”

She looked uncertain for a brief moment before she steeled herself, and shook her head. 

“Alright.” 

He was about to push open the door before a thought occurred to him.

“Do you mind if I cast Stoneflesh on you?” At her look of warriness and confusion he elaborated, “It will give you a form of magical armor.”

How did she not know of Stoneflesh? It was a fairly common spell.

After a moment of thinking she acquiesced, and seemed to brace herself for something.

Summoning his magicka, he formed the spell in his hand and cast it on her, an ethereal radiance appearing on her skin. She seemed pleasantly surprised for a moment, and the wariness disappeared.

She must have been bracing herself for pain. She thought that he was going to hurt her.

That was...understandable, considering what she must have gone through.

Once again, rage flared within him. He pushed open the door.

There was a Breton muttering to himself inside the vast room, his back facing the entrance. He seemingly didn’t notice the two entering the room. 

Relthreyn readied a lightning spell when the Breton turned and struck out with an Icy Spear of his own. He ducked the projectile and gestured for the woman to find cover before turning to engage the mage.

The mage was surprisingly powerful, refusing to let Relthreyn get close enough to engage him with his Bound Sword, forcing him to keep dodging Ice Spike around bursts of lightning, keeping him from getting a hit in.

Combat proficiency aside, the man was clearly insane, raving about how he had found the ‘secrets of immortality’, and that he had ‘discerned the unseen’. As he fought the crazed mage, Relthreyn saw the woman take a dagger and a journal from the table she was crouching behind. She raised the dagger and gave him a piercing stare.

Well, who was he to get in the way of her revenge?

The Dunmer dodged another Ice Spear before dual casting Flames at the man, forcing him to put up a ward spell. He maneuvered the man so that his back was towards the woman the mage had apparently forgotten about, at least until she leapt out of her hiding place and put the dagger through his neck.

He dropped like a bag of rocks.

It was over.


	5. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was doing research into the afterlives of the races, and I found a whole lot of contradictory info. If any of y'all know more, know of a good source or have theories could you tell me about it? Specifically stuff about Atherious and Dreamsleeve?
> 
> Also, Merry Christmas! And here's hoping the upcoming New Year will be better than the last!

### Naya III

She burst into tears after she killed Sindrion. The dagger clattered to the floor, and she fell to her knees as the events of the past however long it had been caught up to her.

Her abuse at the hands of the bandits, the experiments at the hands of Sindrion, the death of her Altmer friend, the fact that she had killed someone - even if he did deserve it - came rushing out.

She saw her rescuer silently angle his body away from her, as to give her some form of privacy. After a few more moments she gathered herself with a shaky inhale. She could properly mourn later. Besides, she didn't want to grieve in the presence of Sindrion's lab or by his corpse. She didn't want to be vulnerable around anything connected to that man.

She had to move forwards - there was nothing else to do. She couldn’t wallow in what had happened to her, she needed to move beyond it. To do any less would be an insult to Yaevis and the Altmer. They had given her everything, and she wouldn’t insult that by not making more of herself than this.

That meant she had to communicate with her rescuer.

She pulled herself to her feet and made her way to the table where the journal had rested. The table held scraps of paper and some small remnant of ink. She couldn’t talk to the Dunmer, but she could write legibly enough.

She shoved her emotions down, balanced the quill awkwardly in her hand and used the rest of the ink to slowly write out her thanks and that she would like to bury some of the bodies in the encampment.

She turned to the Dunmer, who was leaning against the doorway, crimson gaze fixed firmly away from her.

She appreciated the gesture. Even the illusion of privacy was better than nothing. At the very least, it was a sign of respect. She found that she valued that much more than she used to.

Clearing her throat to catch his attention, she held out the note. He looked away from whatever he was staring at and took it from her, eyes flicking over it.

“My name is Relthreyn.”

Now that she wasn’t terrified out of her mind, she noticed that his voice was quiet. It was had a raspy edge to it, like he spent much of his time yelling. His accent wasn’t like Yaevis’ or the Altmer’s, but she thought that she preferred the unfamiliarity. 

“I saw a shovel in the hallway.”

She arranged her features into an expression of gratitude and walked into said hallway. She didn't register her surroundings as she zeroed in on the shovel and made her way outside with the tool in tow.

First she would dig a grave. Next, she would bury the Altmer, and the rest of the prisoners with her.

Lastly, she would leave the bandits to rot as they did to Yaevis.

* * *

  
  


They ended up digging the grave together. She was too weak to do it be herself, and grave digging was hard work on its own. It was a mass grave. Moving and burying possibly disease ridden bodies was a thankless, potentially dangerous affair, but she found disease potions on the shelves and burials were for the living, not the dead.

Actually, this was a different world were the divide between life and death was much thinner than what she was used to. That made it all the more important. She didn't know the customs of the her dead companions, but she hoped what she could offer would be enough.

Relthreyn remained silent throughout the entire affair, but he did offer to make a headstone from one of the rock littering the area. He was observant, and she thought that he was rather kind. She noticed that he stayed within her sight when he was around her, and he never got too close to her without giving making his intentions obvious.

It wasn't a big thing, but it was something she very much appreciated.

That quiet deference to her dignity as a human being did more to make her relax around him than his slaughtering of the bandits. She was well aware of the fact that she was pretty much at his mercy, but she tentatively thought that this wouldn’t end terribly for her. If she was lucky, he would bring her to the nearest town, and she could figure something out from there. 

She stubbornly ignored the spike of panic that came from the thought of being alone in a foreign place.

She planted the shovel into the soft earth at her feet, before she sank to her knees in front of the freshly turned soil, chest heaving. By some stroke of luck, her asthma was not acting up too terribly, so most of what she had to deal with was the generally awful physical condition she was in.

She jolted when Relthreyn spoke. 

“I could engrave something on it.”

That was a good idea. They deserved something more than a blank stone.

After a moment's thought, she simply etched Beloved into the soft earth with her finger.

With the exception of the Altmer, she didn’t know much about her fellow prisoners. She could guess, but when it came down to it she didn’t know who they were or where they came from. She didn’t even know their names. But she hoped that they were all loved by someone at some point in their lives. At the very least, they all deserved the dignity of a proper grave.

She tensed slightly as that void-dark energy from earlier gathered once again, but only in one of his hands this time. There was an odd clanging sound before an ethereal purple dagger formed in his grip. Naya knew that it was irrational to fear the Dunmer’s magic - she didn’t think that he would go through so much trouble if he was going to hurt her.

It was different with the Altmer. She had suffered alongside the woman. She had trusted the other woman. For all that the Dunmer had done for her, she didn’t know the man. She was grateful, certainly, but she did not say that she trusted him.

The scrape of the dagger against stone drew her back into reality. She watched as he carefully engraved ‘Beloved’ into the low stone, along with a a vaguely familiar symbol before backing away.

That was it. 

She stared at the grave blankly. She had already shed her tears - she had nothing else to offer.

Maybe she could pray for them? 

She very much knew that the Aedra and Daedra were real forces in this world. Yaevis had taken her to a shrine once, and she had felt the effects of the blessing. She’d also felt the power in amulets - there was something otherworldly about them, even deeper than the magic that was used here. 

She cast her mind back to what Yaevis and the Altmer had told her about the higher powers in this world. The Dumner were created by Azura, the Altmer worshiped Auri-El, and the Bosmer and Breton deity of death was Arkay.

She kneeled atop the rocky earth and reached out to gods that were not hers for those who had passed.

* * *

She didn’t remember how much time she spent at the grave. As the sky began to darken, Relthreyn had roused her from her haze and led her to a small grove of trees where he gestured for her to sit. He had grabbed the journal from where she had left it by Sindrion’s body and put it and a clean tunic beside her before busying himself with making camp.

It was when the cold of night began to set in, warded off only by the fire Relthreyn had lit, that she found the courage to flip open the journal.

She needed to know what had been done to her.

As she flipped through the pages, she grew more and more horrified. What this man had done, what he had forced others to do...it was worse than she could have imagined.

And yet, she still felt guilt for killing him. Even on Earth she had been no stranger to death - she had accidentally killed in self-defense. But killing Sindrion was different. It wasn't because she wanted to preserve her own life. It was because she wanted to end his. It was personal. If this had happened on earth, she could have been tried for murder.

Murder or not, she didn’t regret killing him. But she still felt guilt over deliberately taking a life.

Steeling herself once more, she flipped to the relevant section.

_2 Tirdas, First Seed, 4E 202._

_I’ve done it. I’ve taken the life force of an Altmer Mage and transferred it to that of a mortal, and even more, a mortal unconnected to Aetherious! It was unfortunate that the ritual caused the Altmer to fade, good ingredients are hard to come by._

_That mortal woman…..a Worldstrider, she has to be. It is the only answer. Only those from different realms can be unconnected to Aetherious. And to have one fall into my lap like this? It was perfect._

_If the transfer can happen so successfully to a Worldstrider, one with no connection to Nirn, then it will take even better to one of this realm!_

_I_ _must keep her, I can only imagine the breakthroughs I can make. But I mustn't be overzealous. Once I perform the ritual on myself, I'll have hundreds of years to experiment. Doesn't hurt that she’s so easy on the eyes. Perhaps I can find other uses for her as well..._

Sickened, she dropped the journal like it was a venomous snake.

It wasn’t Sindrion’s thoughts about her body that got to her. No, she figured that out from the lingering gaze and hands. It was that his experiments were a success.

The mer lived for hundreds of years, the Altmer longest of all.

She could never go home again.

Even if she could find the way back, she couldn’t take it. She would simply live too long. If she went back, she would outlive everyone. If someone found out about it and coveted it... No. She could never go back home.

There was a rustle of leather and metal, interrupting her from her grief. Relthreyn was giving her a concerned look. She waved her hand at the journal, inviting him to read it. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what happened to her. Who was she to care if he looked through it?

As he flipped through the pages, she stared into the crackling flames.

“Do you want this?”

Naya shook her head. She had gotten what she needed from it and had no desire to see the accursed thing ever again. She startled back as the journal was tossed into the flames. 

“Then there's no reason for that to be around for anyone who gets their hands on it to read.”

After a few more moments of them both staring at the journal being greedily devoured by the flames, he spoke again.

“That man wanted to be immortal. Let him die with his journal." Silence fell in the campsite and she continued staring into the crackling flames of the fire, feeling too empty to do anything other than exist. Again, the silence was broken by Relthreyn's quiet voice. "If you can, try to get some rest.”

### Relthreyn III

His first objective was to find a pond. They had broken camp at sunrise, and he could see the Redgaurd’s clear discomfort with her state of disarray. Honestly he could go for a bath as well. While he had cleaned his armor the night previous, he hadn’t been able to do much about the bandit remnants on his person. 

Fortunately, it was First Seed, which meant that it was early enough in the year for the Spriggans would still be in hibernation, but late enough for the ponds to not be frozen over. 

He thought that there was a pond to the east, but it had been a few decades since he had been here last, and he did not have a map. He used to have a map, but it met its end during the Thalmor-Dragon incident that led him to these mountains in the first place.

Clairvoyance it was. He lit the illusion spell in his hand, and then paused in his casting as the woman abruptly went from wary to petrified. 

He was an idiot. Of course she wouldn’t be comfortable with magic. He extinguished the spell.

She’d probably been too shaken to truly react to anything after all that had happened to her the day previous - she’d practically passed out after reading that journal.

He would have to be more mindful from now on. Trauma aside, the journal had named her as a Worldstrider, so it wouldn't be unreasonable to assume she didn't know much about magic. He had previously thought that to be a myth, but the end of Nirn was nigh unless he killed the Nordic harbinger of the apocalypse, so meeting a Worldstrider wasn't exactly the oddest thing that had ever happened to him.

Perhaps if she knew more about magic she would be less apprehensive? 

“That spell is called Clairvoyance.”

Her eyes snapped to his. That was something, at least.

“It allows me to discern my destination if I have a clear enough picture of it. I was going to use it to find a pond or stream..”

After a moment more, her gaze left his. A complicated mix of emotions crossed her face, before she inclined her chin slightly, expression determined.

He really wished that the ink hadn’t ran out yesterday. He was going to hope that meant that she was more comfortable with casting the spell.

So he did - still to her discomfort, but she looked less fearful than before. As he began to follow the ethereal trail, he started speaking once more. This would be easier on both of them if she had something to focus on aside from the magic.

“I actually learned this spell from a Courier in Morrowind…”

As he spoke, he noticed her grow more...he wouldn’t say relaxed, but more to her baseline level of wariness.

He was going to call this interaction a tentative success.

* * *

Now blessedly free of bandit particles, Relthreyn joined his temporary companion at the campsite. She was pulling her hair into a knot when he took a seat across from her.

Now that she was cleaner, he could see her injuries more clearly. It didn’t look too severe - she had moved without any issues this morning and the day previous. She mainly had cuts, bruises and magicka burns that were in various stages of healing.

Which made sense, considering the parts of the journal he had read. That mage hadn’t wanted his ‘research materials’ to be damaged irreparably. He forcefully redirected his train of thought before he could grow angry again. That journal had been beyond depraved. 

But he digressed. He would try to heal her injuries. He was not accomplished in Restoration by any means, but he could manage something.

Now the only question was if the woman would let him heal her. He took a moment to think about how to broach the subject, before just deciding to go for it. Tact never had been his strong suit.

“I might be able to heal you a little.”

At his words, she pulled the spare tunic he had given her tighter around herself. After a moment of thinking she nodded.

Good. One less thing to worry about.

Thankfully, he could cast Healing Hands on her from where he was sitting. 

He took a breath before forcing his magicka into the spell. It wasn’t a problem of power for him, but of compatibility. His magic was simply too far on the caustic end of the spectrum to easily convert into any Restoration spell.

Grudgingly, a golden glow flickered into existence before streaming to the woman and surrounding her in a cocoon of light. He saw her relax slightly as the magic soothed her injuries. He held the spell until he felt a noticeable drain on his magic, and then let it fade. 

Her bruises had faded to near non-existence, and her semi-closed cuts had accelerated to the last stages of mending. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a thing he could do about the magic burns - he simply wasn’t skilled enough for it. Depending on what had caused them, they could take weeks, maybe even months to heal without proper assistance.

He really needed to find an actual healer. 

* * *

He found that travelling with someone else was quite an adjustment. He hadn’t travelled with a companion in over 30 years, and he had never been in a situation like this before. He didn't even get her name until the fifth day of travelling with her. The woman - no. Not the woman. Naya ended up writing it in the dirt while they were breaking their fast.

Once again, he wished they had writing utensils. It would make things much easier.

His plan was to still take her to a town with a competent healer, and then he would be on his way. The problem was, he couldn’t take the main road unless he wanted to risk getting arrested, so they had to take an incredibly scenic route.

In spite of the circumstances, he found that he didn’t mind it. Even though Naya was effectively mute, and was still wary of him - though it was starting to fade - and he enjoyed not being alone.

But it was still an adjustment. And sometimes that adjustment could be a massive pain in the neck.

The reason why he was thinking about this was because he had no idea where Naya had wandered off to.

She had left about forty minutes ago to gather ingredients for their next meal - she had taken to cooking most meals for the both of them, to his protest. He had wanted to split the duty more evenly, but she had objected. He still had no idea how she won that disagreement while only communicating in charades. 

Anyways, she usually made her way back after around twenty minutes and it was nearing sundown.

With a sigh, he set a ward around the camp before he cast his tried and true Clairvoyance variant. 

He quickly followed the trail through the sparse forest, before finally catching up to her in a sunlit clearing. She wasn’t that far, it had only taken him ten minutes to find her.

Naya was...staring at butterflies. She looked completely entranced. He snapped a stick under his boot as he walked closer, and she jolted out of her trace, wide-eyed copper gaze falling onto him.

The look on his face must have been expressive, because she went red before sheepishly holding up the nearly overflowing satchel and pointing at the butterflies.

Thankfully, he was quickly becoming adept at interpreting her silence.

She had been…gathering ingredients, but got distracted by the fluttering insects. For nearly half an hour.

Huh.

It was at that moment that he realized she was going to be much more trouble than he first thought.


	6. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild beacon appears!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm about to start my next semester, so my updates will start to get sporadic. I will try to go for once a month at minimum.

### Naya IV

Her hands were still shaking.

She let out a violent curse and dropped her bow. She couldn’t hunt like this - she couldn’t even draw back an arrow like this.

An hour earlier Relthreyn had felled a mountain troll in one of the more violent displays of magic she had seen since her arrival to Tamriel, and she responded to that by having a panic attack.

They had been travelling together for quite some time now, and she still couldn’t get past her stupid aversion to magic. She knew that magic was a tool just like anything else on the planet, and that it was the user that determined how it would be used, and at this point she knew that Relthreyn wasn’t going to hurt her, but every time she felt the electric tang of destructive magic in the air she went back.

She couldn’t get through a day without some small moment shattering her all over again.

Even when she did something as simple as brushing her hair she would grow sullen again. Her grandmother would do her hair for her when she was a child and that memory, which had always been a comfort to her, now served as a reminder of what she had lost. At times like this when she was alone hunting alone for game, she would look over her shoulder and expect to see Yaevis only to find empty air. 

She thought that she had already come to terms with her separation from her world, but she was wrong. She felt like she couldn’t see or experience anything without it reminding her of the past, when the only thing she wanted to do was look towards the future.

All that was left from her past was hope for the future.

But she couldn’t think like that. She couldn’t let herself be overcome by ghosts.

Those moments may have shattered her but there were others that pieced her back together.

Simple moments like sitting eating a meal over the fire with Relthreyn, seeing the beauty of the sunrise in the morning, or collecting ingredients from the forest. They were routine and largely unremarkable, but she wanted more moments like those in the future.

She was even becoming accustomed to some aspects of magic. Not all of it sparked a negative response in her - the golden rush of restoration was something she was beginning to find comforting. It flowed through her veins, soothing the lingering pain from her still unhealed magicka burns.

She was pretty certain that Relthreyn wasn’t particularly talented in Restoration - she had learned about it in theory from Yaevis, the Altmer and the from ramblings of Sindrion, so she had a basic idea of what the average mage was capable of.

But he didn’t let that stop him from helping her. While he couldn’t heal those burns of hers, he could keep them from growing worse. The fact that he cared enough to routinely heal her, that he took the time to work with her problems in regards to magic to help her meant more to her than the healing itself did.

It almost made her wish that she could use magic to heal, too.

She shook her head at the thought - yearning for something she would never have was not a road she was going to go down.

She took in a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled slowly. Her hands finally stopped shaking. She could hunt.

The ghost of Yaevis made hunting a bittersweet affair. While it reminded her of the kind Bosmer, but it was also where she could experience what Skyrim had to offer. 

Skyrim was fierce and untamed. Beautiful, in that feral way that only the natural world could be. The colors were sharper, the air was cleaner, the animals livelier. It was more vivid than anything she had experienced on Earth.

It was a world that she could come to call her own.

* * *

She was staring up at the night sky when a peculiar thought occurred to her.

She liked traveling with Relthreyn.

Not out of gratitude, thought there was plenty of that. She was very aware of the fact that she would be dead or worse without him, after all.

She enjoyed spending time with him. She was actually coming to think of him as a friend. Her initial impression of him held true. He was kind to her. There was the obvious in his healing efforts and the fact that he worked with the fact that she still couldn’t muster up the courage to speak to him, but there were other things too. They had fallen into the rhythm of travelling together - living together - with remarkably little drama, all things considered. There was the initial awkwardness that came with new companionship in the beginning, but it had faded, and was being replaced with an easier camaraderie.

She was pretty sure that if they had met under less dramatic circumstances that they would get along quite well.

She had to remember that this was temporary. He was going to bring her to a healer, and they would go their separate ways. But when she looked up at the now familiar light of the dual moons and the dancing Borealis, she realized that she didn’t want to go.

### Relthreyn IV

The first time Naya spoke to him was in the beginning of a storm. They were huddled together in a small hollow carved out of the mountainside. After they had taken refuge, he conjured a flames in his hands in an effort to ward off the cold.

Naya’s skittishness regarding magic had diminished greatly from when they first started travelling together. She’d taken a more proactive approach to the subject recently by asking him, in that silent way of hers, to use it more often.

He had no intention of telling her, but it had been a relief to start using magic as often as he normally did again. He had been using magic his whole life, so cutting back on it had been uncomfortable. 

They pressed themselves as far into the hollow as they could when she opened her mouth as if to speak. He pretended not to notice her first failed attempts - if he was in her situation he knew that he wouldn’t appreciate someone staring - and instead busied himself with increasing the heat of the flames. After a few more tries she succeeded, voice emerging in a whisper, hoarse and rusty from disuse. 

“We can’t stay here.”

His first thought was that Naya had a rather peculiar accent. It sounded like a blend of Valenwood and an inflection completely foreign to his ears. It was as if all the letters she formed were leaning up against one another before escaping her lips in a mellow sort of drawl. His second was slight amusement that the first thing she said to him was completely unremarkable.

His third thought was interrupted by a flash lightning and a boom of thunder that he could feel in his bones. 

She was right. They needed to find better shelter.

The only place near here was an old Nordic ruin that boasted a passageway through the mountains, but the problem was that it was crawling with very hostile Forsworn, meaning that they would end up fighting their way in.

He could feel Naya’s eyes boring into his neck as the rain came down harder. 

“I know where we can get shelter.”

Her voice cracked in the middle of her response. “The ca-catch?”

At this point, he was not surprised that she could pick up on the things he left unsaid. While he had been learning to listen to her silence out of necessity, she had been learning to read him as well. He was caught off guard by her continuing to speak without any aplomb, but if she wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it, then neither would he.

“If we get spotted we’ll have to fight our way in.”

Unfortunately the storm was quickly building into a proper thunderstorm, so they didn’t have much of a choice. Between fighting Forsworn and having no shelter on a mountain amid what was looking to be a very severe thunderstorm, he’d take Forsworn any day.

* * *

He was right. The Forsworn were hostile.

The ones guarding the entrance were taking shelter in the various tents and stone shelters dotting the landscape in front of the ruin. Fortunately their commotion combined with the storm gave him and Naya enough cover to remain unseen.

But their luck did not hold, because they were spotted five minutes into their entrance to the ruin by a mage who attacked them on sight. He responded by killing the mage and looting his corpse, because if someone decided that attacking with deadly force first and asking questions later was the best course of action then they deserved whatever he could throw at them.

Violence was rather high on his personal list of appropriate reactions, but even he didn’t resort to lethal force unless it was directed at him first.

He didn’t think this situation was completely terrible for two reasons. First, he’d been itching for a good fight and second, he wanted to see how Naya would handle open combat. The nearest town with a good healer was Dragon Bridge, but he didn’t want to risk going there unless something truly drastic happened. That meant going to Karthwasten which was quite the trek from their current location. With his luck, something terrible was going to happen, like a giant attack, or a group of Thalmor finding him, and he wanted some idea of how Naya would react to something like that.

Their first meeting didn’t count for a variety of reasons, and with the exception of the Giant Frostbite Spider Incident, they only were attacked by solitary animals and the occasional bandit or two on the road. All of which he could - and did - take care of himself.

She was a competent huntress - she must have learned archery from a Bosmer, if the way she handled a bow and arrow was any indication - but he didn’t know how well that would translate to fighting a sentient opponent. 

He saw Naya grab a bow and quiver of arrows from the table before stopping abruptly as she neared the exit to the first room. He paused in rifling through the mage’s pockets at her pause.

“What is it?”

“Trap.”

At Naya’s words he abandoned the ex-mage, and warily moved over to her. 

“Trap” was an understatement. He saw at least five creative ways to die and/or gain a grievous injury in the first glance alone. 

He exchanged a look with Naya, before he cast Candlelight, revealing even more obstacles. They navigated the hallway slowly, carefully picking their way through.

He concluded, as they entered the next area - a wide expanse littered with more foes, and yet more traps - that these Forsworn could give Delphine lessons on paranoia. He could spot exploding pots, bear traps, elemental runes, pressure plates, every type of trap he had ever seen and more. It was ridiculous.

It was a wonder they managed to live in the place without stumbling into a trap and dying. 

He spotted a conveniently placed ledge that would be wonderful for shooting. It would make things easier to have the element of surprise. Forsworn were little better then bandits, in his opinion, and he knew very well that they had no issue with killing whatever lost soul wandered into their encampments, as the mage in the first room had proven.

He gauged the height of the ledge, looked over at Naya, and realized that she was far too short to reach the first foothold to climb up. 

“We need to get on that ledge.”

She raised a brow at his words and looked over at the ledge. By the annoyed look that crossed her face, she clearly realized the same thing he did. He made a mental note to bring this up later, if only to see the look on her face. It was bound to be hilarious.

But now was neither the time nor place for that.

He crouched down, laced his hands together, and boosted her up when her foot came into contact with his palms. He climbed up after she settled into place and swept his eyes over the area. He could see ten of them. The Forsworn were in the habit of wearing outfits that coordinated with how they fought, which made life easier for him. The mages were what he wanted to focus on now. It would be much easier to take out the rest of them with the heavy hitters out of the way.

He saw Naya pulling arrows from her quiver out of the corner of his eyes, clearly anticipating picking them off. He followed suit, only he conjured a Bound Bow instead of readying a physical one.

This was the first time she didn’t react at all to his usage of magic. That made this detour entirely worthwhile. 

“We need to take out the mages first.”

She nodded before nocking an arrow - she was _definitely_ taught by a Bosmer - and aiming at one of the Shaman. He was wondering if she knew what each set of Forsworn armour signified. Her knowledge of Tamriel was inconsistent, which made sense considering what she was, and it was never quite obvious what she knew or not until it came up.

He followed suit and loosed his arrow, hitting his target in the shoulder, and followed with a second arrow that struck the heart. He heard the whistle of Naya’s arrow through the air, as he drew back his next shot and struck down a Ravager.

The third mage wasn’t a problem, because they managed to to trigger the swinging blades while trying to retreat to the next room.

Apparently they did stumble into their own traps and die.

* * *

He was pleasantly surprised with how well she handled herself in close combat. He made sure to keep as much of an eye on her as he could while he was fending off two Forsworn, but she did not need his help.

She couldn’t use her dagger for more than rudimentary combat, but she was fast and resourceful. She took the route of dodging or blocking everything and using her environment to her advantage. He saw her deliberately trigger a pressure plate before throwing herself to the side to let her opponent take the hit before finishing the man off with a hit to the throat.

He cut down his opponent with the axe he had taken from the Ravager that he killed earlier, before beginning the process of looting the room for everything that wasn’t nailed down.

At this point, he wasn’t sure if his compulsion for looting was mainly a product of his upbringing or if it was more of a dragon thing. He had wandered Morrowind with his mother, an Ashlander exile. She had taught him to do whatever it took to survive, and if surviving meant stealing or looting corpses, then so be it. 

But it had never felt as compulsory as it did now. It almost drove him to distraction if he didn’t take something.

They pressed onwards, both falling into the rhythm of combat, eventually making it through a wooded area - the thunderstorm stopped, Kynareth must be feeling merciful - and entering into another Nordic ruin. 

He conjured his bow upon entering the tower, and he heard Naya draw her dagger. It was eerily silent, which did not bode well. They crept into the first room, and immediately retreated back into the hall.

“Damn. Hagraven.” He faced Naya who was looking vaguely disgusted - understandable, hagravens were repulsive on every possible level - and continued.“I need you to distract the witch while I deal with the hagraven. I don’t fancy fighting all three at once.” 

He said _the_ witch, because the first thing he did upon finishing that sentence was shoot a witch in the heart. He cast a ward at her death, and let the flames of the other two splash against it. If they cast frost or lightning spells then he would be in trouble, but the only thing he never had much of a problem warding against was fire.

That was mainly because he could take a substantial amount of fire damage due to his race, but that wasn’t the point.

“Ready?”

He felt her brush his shoulder in response. Thankfully, she seemed to be able to push back her initial fear of magic when in combat which made this situation much easier.

He channeled a lightning bolt in his off hand and let the flames brush over his skin as he launched it through the ward at the hagraven. He was not stupid enough to engage the creature with only magic, so he stuck to fending off her destruction magic by launching elemental projectiles of his own at her spells. He pushed through her magic, finally gaining enough ground to draw his axe to cut her down and let out a loud curse as the hagraven summoned a small pack of skeevers and ran from the room. He responded by setting the damn rodents on fire.

He was distracted from his rage by Naya letting out a strangled shriek. She was staring at the oversized rats with an alarmed look on her face.

“Are you _scared_ of skeevers?”

The look she shot him clearly communicated her desire for him to shut his mouth. She was. This was amazing. This was _hilarious._

“I saw you skin a skeever last week.”

Now she looked like _she_ was going to shut his mouth for him if he didn’t stop talking. He gleefully ignored her, because this was too good to pass up.

“You didn’t blink an eye at that cluster of Giant Frostbite spiders, but three skeevers get to you.” 

She huffed in response and stalked further into the ruin, carefully avoiding the charred skeever corpses on the floor.

Now he had two more things to badger her about in the future. Teasing Naya was just about the only thing that he could do to draw her out of her shell, and he’d take her annoyance over her anxious blankness.

Unfortunately that was the only levity to be had for the next hour, which was a rage-inducing mix of finding the hagraven, almost killing her, the damn bird-woman retreating, and cutting their way through whatever she summoned.

He was at the end of his rope when they made it out of the ruins to an area with a Word Wall - he could hear the war chants from where he was standing - and an altar with a dagger on it along with an ornate chest.

His vision tinted red when he saw his prey, and he threw his axe at her, relishing her shriek of pain, before a Shout tore itself from his throat. He felt the gale of Whirlwind Sprint surround him as he sped forwards, and shot a Fireball point-blank at her face, _finally_ killing her.

Naya’s bewildered stare burning into him broke him out of his predatory delight.

Shit.

He’d been trying to keep his more draconic side under wraps around her; she already had enough on her plate without dealing with his issues. But he couldn't not explain himself unless he wanted to lose the trust she had given him.

“I’ll explain once we make camp.”

She gave him a long stare before nodding at him and turning to inspect the chest. He turned to the Wall, unable to ignore the beckoning cries any longer. 

His vision darkened as he approached the ancient writing. The war cries grew louder, and his vision darker, until all he could see was - 

**_Tiid_ **

_Time_

He was frozen as the cries quieted, tasting the word that had burned itself into him. There was something missing. He knew the word, but he didn’t _know_ it. 

“Relthreyn!” 

Naya’s soft call drew him out of his daze. He strode over to her, and joined her by the chest.

There was a glowing artifact inside of it. 

“I have no idea what that is.”

There was a fifty-fifty chance of it being malevolent or not, because glowing orbs were suspicious at best, but leaving it here for anyone to get their hands on was idiotic.

He cast a Detect Life spell on it, because he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it had a degree of sentience considering some of the shit mages got up to. 

Nothing.

He grabbed the one-handed axe sitting in the corner of the chest and tapped it against the orb.

Nothing. It just rolled a little.

“It doesn't _seem_ to be malicious…” 

…But touching it really would be stupid.

They stared at the orb for a second longer before reaching for it in tandem.

The last thing he was expecting was the voice of a Daedric Prince to thunder through the air when their fingers brushed the orb.

**“A new hand touches the beacon.”**


	7. The Break of Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's favorite quest commences.

### Naya V

She hit the ground with a wheeze once they finished setting up camp.

Damn asthma. She had been incredibly lucky to not have an attack until now, what with the tourture and imprisonment. It figures that she would start having issues while she and Relthreyn were on a time-sensitive trip for a Daedric Prince.

Her ears were still ringing from Meridia’s voice. Volume control was not in the Daedra’s dictionary. 

But Meridia’s voice alone was enough to terrify her - she couldn't imagine actually being in the Daedric Princes presence. Something about it made her want to cringe away from the power that had pervaded the clearing. It was too burning, too bright for her to feel comfortable in.

She didn’t know if it was because of her _issues_ regarding magic, or because of something else.

Regardless, Meridia was arguably the most benevolent Daedric Prince. As far as she knew, she hadn’t done anything that would anger her, so why did she inspire such terror? 

“Were you cut by any of the traps in the ruin?”

Startled by the sudden question, she gave her traveling companion a quizzical look.

“Your breath. You may have contracted Rattles or some other disease.”

Oh. 

Previous ponderings forgotten, she shook her head before rummaging through her knapsack to show him the empty vial Potion of Cure disease she had downed earlier before taking in a strained breath to respond.

“Asthma. I was born with it. It’s incurable.”

He cocked his head in a strangely avian gesture.

“I’ve never heard of a lung disease you could be born with.”

Seriously?

Relthreyn, she knew, was very well-travelled, so if he hadn’t heard of it before then her affliction was either very uncommon or straight up didn’t exist in Tamriel.

Which was just unfair.

She nodded, and was about to close her eyes and focus on making her lungs work when she caught the glimmering concern in his crimson gaze.

It was different than before. He’d been worried about her before, obviously, but it was in a more clinical fashion. This looked like he actually cared beyond basic human - merish, _whatever -_ decency. 

So she decided to elaborate.

“The rain made it flair. Too cold.”

She came to the conclusion that she sucked at elaboration. 

Closing her eyes, she decided to focus on her breathing instead of trying to speak again. She couldn’t bring herself to force out another sentence. But in the moments that followed her words she began to feel the air around the campsite grow gradually warmer.

She opened an eye and directed her gaze to the culprit. His eyes were glimmering with what could only be magic and he matched her gaze with his own in a silent offering. She took a moment to consider before muttering “My back”. 

Being able to breathe outweighed her aversion to touch any day of the week.

She stiffened as he settled next to her and placed his unnaturally hot hand to her back. The rush of warmth that suffused her system made her relax slightly, but the tension in the air was still apparent.

Then he began to speak quietly.

“There is one being that can truly kill a dragon…”

Dragons? Why was he talking about that? She knew of them, of course, but she had only seen one. She had heard its Voice and promptly decided to vacate the area. Curiosity was not worth dying.

Wait. He had let out that Shout earlier - was that what this was about? 

“...one with the body of a mortal and the soul of a dragon. The Dragonborn can absorb the soul of a dragon, leaving no way for it to be resurrected…”

She thought she had a pretty good idea where this was going.

As she listened to her friend’s tale, she slowly began to relax, letting his still heated body bear the slight weight of hers.

* * *

She and especially Relthreyn had grown progressively more wary the closer they drew to Mt. Kilkreath. Doing a quest for a Daedric Prince was a thing that neither of them wanted to do, but considering what he had told her last night, he certainly had more reasons to dislike where they were going than she.

She was still processing that fact that she was traveling with someone who was basically a demigod, but that was an existential crisis for another time.

Anyway, it sounded like he had managed to piss off an entire _country_ with that stunt.

Then again, it was the Thalmor. From what she knew, they were despised by quite literally everyone who was not them.

She was still wheezing slightly as they made their way to the Temple, but it was nowhere near as bad as the night previous.

Last night had been...interesting. She had nearly drifted off during his tale. Between the comforting warmth he was emanating and the exhaustion she had been feeling, staying awake had been a battle. It wasn’t until the morning that she realized that was the first time she had willingly touched another person since she had met him.

“There it is.”

She focused on the present at Relthreyn’s words. They had stopped in front of a set of crumbling stone steps hewn into the rocky mountainside. She saw Relthreyn stare at the steps for a moment before letting out a deep sigh and begrudgingly starting the ascent.

Yeah. That pretty much summarized her feelings about all of this. Hopefully, this wouldn’t end up being anything too terrible.

As they climbed higher, the temple proper came into view. It was a beautiful, but decaying place. She could see remnants of its former glory in the once proud arches curving over the uppermost stairs and the still-stately, crumbling ruin, once intricately formed and designed, whose doors were emanating a noxious black miasma. She really hoped that they didn’t have to go in there. Ominous miasma was not indicative of a good time.

**“Look at my temple, lying in ruins. So much for the constancy of mortals, their crafts and their hearts. If they love me not, how can my love reach them?”**

She started, and almost ran into Relthreyn as Meridia started speaking. 

Holy shit, she was even louder than before.

After taking a moment to let the ringing in their ears die down, they pressed onward and approached a raised staircase leading to an ornate statue. The statue was a work of art, a beautifully carved depiction of a winged, regal woman in a hooded robe, her face and hands raised to the sky.

**“Restore my beacon, that I might guide you toward your destiny.”**

After exchanging a glance, they both approached a small stone basin, carved in the image of two hooded women with their hands held out in supplication, at the foot of the statue. Relthreyn reached into his knapsack and placed the Beacon into the basin where it glowed and started floating upwards.

And then they started floating with it. She let out a ‘eep’ of surprise and fear as her feet left the ground. She hoped Rlethreyn hadn’t heard that - she had already embarrassed herself around him enough for the foreseeable future.

At the apex of their ascent they were met with what had to be Meridia in the form of a miniature sun.

**“It is time for my splendor to return to Skyrim. But the token of my truth remains buried in the ruins of my once great temple, now tainted by a profane darkness skittering within. The Necromancer Malkoran defiles my shrine with vile corruptions, trapping lost souls left in the wake of this war to do his bidding. Worse still, he uses the power stored in my own token to fuel his foul deeds. I have brought you here, mortals, to be my champions. You will enter my temple, retrieve my artifact, and destroy the defiler.”**

Being in the presence of Meridia was beyond overwhelming. She could feel the sheer power the Prince generated just by existing. Her light was a bright, burning thing, but it was as captivating as it was consuming. She couldn’t help but want to be a part of it, even as she tried to shy away.

She had never quite understood the draw of worshiping a Daedric Prince before, but now she could see the draw.

She heard Relthreyn respond to the Prince, though his voice was more hoarse than normal.

“What is the artifact?”

**“Mortals call it Dawnbreaker, for it was forged in a holy light that breaks upon my foes, burning away corruption and false life. You will enter my shrine, destroy Malkoran, and retrieve this mighty blade.”**

At this, her awe was pushed aside for a wonder mixture of irritation and fear. She absolutely did not want to go into that Temple. The doors alone looked like a Health Inspector's worst nightmare.

But one did not deny the wishes of being that could crush you like a bug. 

“We’ll do it.”

Judging by that answer, Relthreyn clearly felt the same as she.

**“Of course you will. I have commanded it! Go now, the artifact must be reclaimed and Malkoran destroyed. Malkoran has forced the doors shut. But this is my temple, and it responds to my decree. I will send down a ray of light. Guide this light through my temple and its doors will open.”**

With this final decree, Meridia lowered them to the ground. 

### Relthreyn V

To borrow a phrase from Naya, this sucked.

‘This’ being the Temple for Meridia, which had been terrible from the moment they had set foot in the entryway. The blackened air had the sickly sweet, pungent smell of rot and decay emanating from the desecrated corpses littering the floor, the miasma making the air thick and difficult to breathe in. 

He heard Naya’s breaths become more laboured as they made their way through the first walkway, and saw her rub her chest out of the corner of his eye.

Damn. That lung sickness she had couldn’t have been doing her any favors. 

He stopped and dug through his knapsack, producing two strips of cloth after a moment. He handed one to Naya, and wrapped the remaining around his lower face for some protection against the miasma. She quickly copied his actions and then gave him a shaky thumbs up. Her breaths only grew slightly less ragged.

That slow burn of irritation he had been feeling since the Forsworn encampment abruptly swelled into the beginnings of rage. They had to move quickly. 

They rapidly approached the first room, which held an orb similar to the Beacon set in a moldering pedestal, with rays of light shining from it. They made a beeline towards the thing, their approach activating the pedestal, one ray reflecting off of it leading deeper into the temple.

Warily, the followed after.

The next room was much the same, only with the addition of three wispy corrupted shades garbed in a dark mockery of the armor they had worn in life. He and Naya had made quick work of the three, their forms collapsing into an oily puddle of ectoplasm that emanated an unpleasant odor and an even more noxious miasma. As he moved forwards to activate the pedestal situated on the dais, Naya broke into a series of painful sound coughs. He abandoned the pedestal and pulled her away from the miasma emanating from the ectoplasm, using Flames to burn the worst of it away.

“Will you be able to make it to the Necromancer?”

He was not going to make her go further into the Temple, where the miasma would be worse. He almost wanted to insist that she rest outside, but he knew she wouldn’t listen to him if he suggested that. Quitting wasn’t something that was in Naya’s vocabulary.

Taking in deep gulps of the partially cleansed air, she nodded shakily.

“Let’s move quickly.”

She started into the next hallway, grip on her bow not faltering despite her obvious exhaustion.

He was going to enjoy killing Malkoran.

* * *

Their journey through the temple continued in much the same vein, with Naya’s condition growing worse and his temper growing hotter with every rasping breath she took.

When they stood before the door to the room containing the necromancer, Naya quietly spoke.

“You distract, I sneak?”

It sounded like a good plan to him. The sound of the battle would cover any sound she made, and he didn’t want to subject Naya to open combat in the condition she was in. It was bad enough that they were breathing in poisonous air, he didn’t want the physical exertion required for combat to exacerbate her laboring lungs. Necromancers usually required much stamina to fight because of their propensity to keep their distance and swarm their opponents with corpses, and he would bet his last septim that Malkoran was of the same stock. Undead had all the observational prowess of a rock, so as long as he kept Malkoran’s attention away from Naya, it could work out.

At his nod, Naya nocked her last remaining arrow into her bow before melting into the shadows of the dim hall. He cast Ironflesh on himself before making a show of bursting through the door and setting one of the lurking shades on fire.

He dodged an Icy Spear from Malkoran and decided to go about dispatching the undead first. They honestly weren’t worth mentioning - they were only about as strong as the average draugr. A few good hits from his axe took care of them in short order.

The shades were easily dealt with. The Necromancer was an entirely different story.

Malkoran was a very skilled opponent. As they fought, he ensured that the Necromancer's back stayed to Naya as she crept through the room. Keeping his attention wasn’t a terribly difficult task because he was trying very hard to kill the man, but he really just needed to wear down the man's Ebonyflesh spell so Naya could strike. Irritatingly enough, Malkoran summoned two more shades to fight with him after he forced him back with a potent frost spell. He stunned Malkorn with an overcharged firebolt and whirled to block a strike from one shade that would have beheaded him, shouting **FUS** to force the blight across the room. An arrow flew from Naya’s position, putting the second shade down for good. The problem was, that was her last arrow, which meant a change in plans. 

Thankfully, Malkoran didn’t seem to have noticed how the shade met its end, as he was too busy throwing a mixture of fire and ice in his direction.

What was it with mages using fire against him? He was Dunmer; it was a stupid strategy. Not that he was complaining, because it gave him the opening he needed to break that Ebonyflesh spell. 

He deflected the ice spike with his axe and deliberately took the firebolt to the shoulder so that he could get in closer. He grit his teeth against the pain of the impact - Ironflesh and his natural resistance made the burn nearly nonexistent, but the force still hurt - and struck Malkoran’s magical armor with his pilfered axe, breaking the blade from the shaft, and discharged an overcharged lightning bolt directly into Malkorn’s chest. A burst of turquoise light signified the death of his foe’s magical armor, and Malkoran staggered back by the pillar where Naya was hiding. As he turned to engage the shade that had staggered back over for a second round, Naya burst out of her hiding spot and neatly stabbed Malkoran in the heart through his back.

Naya approached him as he finished the shade off, opening her mouth to speak before her eyes widened and she pushed him to the side. She collapsed to the floor as she took a sickly yellow spell directly to her chest, dagger clattering to the ground beside her.

Fury and fear raced through his body as he ran to engage the lich that had risen from Malkorn's corpse. He melted an ice spike with an overcharged firebolt, the spell continuing on to strike the shade, forcing it away from Naya’s unconscious form, using the opportunity to arm himself with her dagger.

His dragon soul raged to the forefront of his mind as his body burst into white-hot flames.

He shouted **WULD** , dashing towards Malkoran faster than the shade could respond, burying Naya’s now cherry red dagger in its skull and simply burning the rest of the lich away until there was nothing but ashes.

Wrath sputtering out, he ran to Naya, falling on his knees beside her, desperately casting healing hands on her. He scrambled for his knapsack pulling out a potion of regeneration and a potion of cure disease, pouring them into her mouth and massaging her throat to make them go down.

Her breathing deepend and her eyes fluttered open.

Relief crashed over him. Thank Azura.

Her voice was scratchy, and she rolled over onto her side to see the burnt remains of Malkoran’s spirit. 

“What happened?” 

His adrenaline faded, the aches and pains of his own wounds making themselves known.

“I’ll tell you when we get out of here, let's get that damn sword and leave.”

As if on cue a voice echoed through the room

**“It is done. The defiler is defeated. Take Dawnbreaker from its pedestal.”**

He helped Naya to her feet and an arm around her waist to support her as they made their way to Dawnbreaker.

Still holding her to his ride, he reached out and drew the sword from its pedestal.

Their world went white.

* * *

He came back to his senses, Naya still grasped in his arm, hovering above Skyrim with Meridia before them as a ball of light. 

**“Malkoran is vanquished. Skyrim’s dead shall remain at rest. This is as it should be. This is because of you both. A new day is dawning, and you both shall be its heralds. Dragonborn, take the mighty Dawnbreaker, and with it purge corruption from the dark corners of the world. Wield it in my name, that my influence may grow.”**

In spite of his intense hatred for this whole affair, he had no desire to anger a Daedric Prince so he went with the safe response.

“I will wield this blade in your name.”

**“May the light of certitude guide your efforts.”**

Meridia then seemed to consider Naya.

 **“And you, Worldstrider, I will forge in you a connection to Aetherious so that you may become a true inhabitant of Nirn. Furthermore, I will bestow upon you my blessing. With it you will shine a light of healing upon those damaged by the depravity of this realm. You shall both be** **beacons of my glorious light.”**

With that final statement Meridia vanished and they were gently lowered to the ground.

* * *

In the gentle light of the next day’s dawn, Relthreyn was awoken by Naya’s panicked gaze and choked off breaths.


	8. Fading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the fight with Malkoran

### Relthreyn VI

She was cold. Far too cold. Shivers wracked her frame, and he could hear her lungs laboring with each breath she took. He had leery given her the potions they had on hand, the they had been ineffectual.

He needed to get her to a healer. He could not handle this - whatever was wrong with her as far beyond his capabilities.

Naha opened her mouth in an attempt to speak, her copper gaze burning into his crimson, and he hurriedly spoke before she could. He knew what she was going to ask him, and he didn’t want her to strain her lungs by speaking.

“Dragon Bridge. I’ll bring you to a priest of Arkay.”

She nodded shakily and closed her eyes, clearly exhausted. He focused inward for a brief moment, and let his Wrath rise slightly to the forefront. He could not use it in its entirety for long periods of time - nearly no Dunmer could. But that wasn’t what he needed. All he needed was to be warm enough for the both of them. It would be difficult, to say the least, to keep it up for as long as he would need to, but it was doable.

He reached out to Naya and nearly recoiled when his hand met her back.

A Death Curse. He had only run into this particular spell type once before, but it couldn’t be anything else - the toxic feeling of unlife was unmistakable. He wished he could drag Malkoran out of whatever plane his rotten soul was roaming, if only to immolate him again.

Naya shifted and cracked an eye open, anxiety rising on her face at his increased agitation.

“It’s nothing…” He paused, trying to decide if he should bring up Malkoran at this moment, but abandoned the idea when he detected the faint sound of hoofbeats.

“...would you be able to stay on a horse if I was riding with you?”

She nodded after a moment.

Good. For once in his life, he actually wished that they were about to be attacked by a bandit, because that would make procuring the horse rather simple.

He helped Naya settle against a tree, and stepped a short distance away from her vulnerable form. His eyes met the greedy ones of the highwayman upon the horse.

Perfect. He drew Dawnbreaker.

* * *

It was nearing dusk when they arrived. 

He dismounted his stolen horse, and carefully hefted an nearly insensate Naya off the animal. To his steadily mounting horror she had worsened as the day went on, finally falling unconscious when they were only minutes out from the town. Her breathing was shallow and labored and her lips were slowly turning blue from lack of air. Worse, her body was slowly ceasing to produce the heat she desperately needed, the chill only fought off by the magical heat that he was struggling to maintain.

He never realized how small she was until he held her like this. 

Shaking off his thoughts, he ventured into the town, sticking to the shadows to avoid the guards. The last thing Naya needed was for him to be arrested. He headed towards the outskirts of Dragon Bridge where the cemetery lay. Where there was a cemetery, there was a Hall of the Dead, and where there was a Hall of the Dead there was a priest of Arkay, and priests, as a rule, were competent healers.

Adjacent to the cemetery grounds was a house with a shrine of Arkay resting in front of it on the porch. The house was also locked. Go figure. 

He set Naya down so that he could pick the lock, before an idea occurred to him. He took her slack hand in his and pressed it against the smooth wood of the shrine to Arkay, hoping that the Divine would bestow his blessing upon her.

After a moment, the tell-take weight of otherworldly power seeped out of the shrine, and a dark periwinkle glow emanated from Naya. He didn’t think he was imagining things when he saw her breath ease ever so slightly.

With that done, he busied himself with breaking into the house in front of him. The lock clicked open after a few seconds of maneuvering and he gathered Naya into his arms once again before entering the abode.

He immediately came face to face with the alarmed gave of a Breton in robes.

The priest shot to his feet, the crackling tang of magicka appearing in the air as he summoned lightning and spoke in a sharp tone.

“Leave my home before I call the guards. Or deal with you myself.”

He knew that he must have been a terrible sight - holding a small unconscious woman who was clearly in bad condition, along with his dirty, travel-worn clothes splattered with blood, ectoplasm and Azura knows what 

He looked the man in the eyes, desperation clearly written on his face.

“Please. Help her.”

After a few long moments, compassion softened on the man’s countenance. He waved them to the upper floor of his house, gesturing for him to put her on the smaller of the two beds on the floor. He did so, and immediately backed away to give the priest space. He settled against the wall, trying to banish the weariness seeping into his bones. 

“What happened to her.”

“She took a Death Curse for me.”

The priest made a noise of acknowledgement, eyes intent on his charge.

“And the magicka burns?”

He had actually forgotten about those in all that had happened. 

“She’s had those for a month, at least.”

He didn’t elaborate more. How she had received them wasn’t pertinent to the conversion, and it wasn't right to speak of it without Naya being aware of it.

After a few moments, he continued.

“She has an incurable lung disease, one that causes wheezing, coughing, and chest pain. It was acting up before we fought the lich.”

“How has she been treating it?”

“She’s taken potions of cure disease, regeneration, and stamina. The cold of the air and the chill of the curse makes it worse, so I’ve been using fire magic to keep her warm.”

Without responding to him, the priest continued working on her. After a few more minutes, the priest told him to go sleep in the guest room.

He reluctantly moved over to the guest room, a small room of to the side of the house that he hadn’t noticed when we originally entered the room.

Despite his worry he quickly fell asleep, exhaustion quickly catching up to him. 

* * *

He awoke to the pounding on the door. He froze, hands warily going to grab his knapsack with the dagger he had taken from the altar at the Forsworn encampment sheathed in it.

The priest's mellow tones drifted to his ears.

“Good morning, Captain! What brings you here so early in the day?”

“There was a suspicious figure seen lurking about last night. Looked as if it were carrying something.”

Ah. He wasn’t as sneaky as he thought he had been. Damn.

“I don’t recall seeing anything last night. I’m terribly sorry to rush you but I have a lot of work to do today if I can’t bother you any further…?

“Of course. If you see or hear anything, please report to me or one of the guards.”

The door shut. After a moment, he could hear the creak of the stairs as the priest walked up them. Looks like he had some explaining to do.

* * *

After a quick explanation of their circumstances to the oddly sympathetic man, he received the verdict on Naya.

“You need to go to the College in Winterhold. I’ve healed those magicka burns, and I’ve beat back as much of the curse as I could manage but breaking it is outside of my capabilities. In addition to the characteristic chill of death curses, the spell is twofold, attacking her lungs – making her preexisting condition worse- and attacking her muscles, opening small tears that steadily grow larger as time goes on. It was intended to slowly kill her over a period of about three months, but her already fragile condition made the effects more immediate than intended. You need to keep her warm, and you need to heal the damage of the curse on a daily basis, or she’ll be permanently injured at best. As for her preexisting condition, she needs to drink a blend of honey and blue mountain flower as well as a tonic of powdered bear claws, charred skeever hide, and garlic.”

Diagnosis given, the priest left to go, leaving the duo alone. 

Naya looked pale and weak, form seeming fragile and breakable as she lay unconscious, clad in only the priest’s spare rise robe. If it wasn’t for the rise and fall of her chest, he would think her a corpse.

He would not let her die. He hadn’t realized how much he had come to care about her until faced with her possible end. She was more than a person he was escorting a healer - she was a friend. Friendship wasn’t something he had much experience in, but he knew it wasn’t something he was going to give up without a fight. 

Getting to the College quickly while avoiding danger and keeping her alive would not be easy, but it was doable. They would have to travel by night in the Imperial controlled holds. Burning down the Embassy had earned him the ire of the Thalmor, but it had also earned him an Imperial bounty. The quickest path to the College meant going precariously close to where the guards patrolled, and the patrols were best avoided at night. 

They would leave at dusk.

### Naya VI

She never could remember much of the trek to the College

There were flashes - more impressions than anything else. The ever-present sway of the horse, the clash of metal meeting metal, the soothing feel of Restoration. 

Her only clear memory was when she woke to the blinding white brilliance of snow and the howl of winter winds. Which struck her as odd because she was warm.

Her head was throbbing and she felt like she had steel wool scraping against the walls of her lungs, but the reason she felt warm began clear as she clawed her way into consciousness.

She wrapped in a thick blanket, her back was pressed against an unnaturally warm chest. Relthreyn.

She shifted in her companion’s arms, and immediately regretted it as her body began to protest with a vengeance.

"Naya. How are you feeling?” His voice was rougher than usual. In fact, he looked about as terrible as she felt. He had heavy black bags under his eyes, his mahogany hair disheveled, and there was days growth of stubble on his face.

She answered, voice hoarse.

"Bad. Where…?"

"You were cursed. I stopped in Dragon Bridge and a priest told me to go to the mage’s college in Winterhold. We're one day away."

He uncurled himself from around her, and she immediately missed his warmth. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself as the chill of the air started the sink into her.

He raised his hand and cast healing hands, the soothing magic sinking deep into her bones.

Relaxing, she began to fade back into her haze only to be interrupted by Relthreyn's voice.

"I just need you to eat and drink something before you sleep."

He provided her with a small bowl of broth and a cup of a steaming, sweet smelling liquid. She downed as much as she could before Relthreyn sat behind her again, wrapping the blanket around them both. She melted back into him as his feverishly hot skin warded off the pervasive chill.

Her eyes grew heavy as she began to drift off.

* * *

She was in a soft, warm bed and Relthreyn was dozing in a chair to her side.

He had abandoned his battered leather armor for a cream and blue hooded robe, though Dawnbreaker was still sheathed at his side.

She tried to speak, but her voice only emerged in a dry croak. The sound of if pulled Relthreyn from his doze.

A look of relief appeared on his face and he helped prop her up against the pillows on the bed. He brought a cup of cool water to her lips for her to drink.

“You’re awake, thank Azura. We’re at the mages college.”

Relishing in the cool sensation of the water she managed to ask,

“When?

“It’s the 1st Loredas of Second Seed. You fell ill in the middle of Rain’s Hand.” 

That means she had to have been ill for at least a couple of weeks. What had happened?

At the look of bewilderment on her face he continued.

“Malkoran’s shade cursed you. We went first to Dragon Bridge where a priest of Arkay looked you over, and then we traveled to the College.”

That’s right. The mage’s College was in Winterhold. 

He had taken her across half the country. Had gone to Dragon Bridge - putting his freedom at risk - for her. That was… a thing . A good thing but it was a good thing she could think about when Relthreyn wasn’t sitting directly in front of her.

But that begged the question…

“Cursed?”

“That spell that you took for me was a Death Curse.” 

She had no idea what that was, but, considering the title and the audible capitalization, it was a big deal.

“I need to get the healer. I’ll be back in a moment.”

She watched him venture out into the circular area that led to parts unknown, and simply let herself relax into the comfort of the bed, until he returned with a stressed looking Breton in tow.

Relthreyn settled himself against the wall, watching them both with an intent gaze, as the woman introduced herself as Carlotte Marence. 

The healer immediately came over to her, hands glowing with restoration magic, and started peppering her with questions about her condition. At the deluge, Naya froze, words caught in her throat. Talking to Relthreyn was easy now. Speaking to a magic-user she had never met before was decidedly more difficult.

Sensing her trepidation, Relthreyn answered the questions for her, accurately interpreting her expressions and body language for the healer.

Healer Marence gave them both an odd look, but ultimately rolled with it before announcing her verdict.

“You developed a minor case of Frost Rasp shortly after you were cursed. The priest you went to cured it, but it weakened you enough that lung disease of yours flared up allowing the curse to progress faster. If your friend had been less diligent in his care of you, you would have died on the way here. You’re lucky you got to me when you did, or I’m not sure if I could have saved you. I can’t risk breaking the curse until you are stronger, or its backlash could kill you. At best, you are looking at five weeks before you are well enough to travel. Right now, I just want to focus on getting you well enough to cast magic so that you can have some protection from the backlash of the curse.”

Magic? She didn’t have magic.

After she exchanged a bemused look with him, Relthreyn vocalized ner thoughts,

“Naya doesn’t have magic.”

“Oh, she most certainly does.” Turning back to her, the healer continued, “It looks like you are uniquely suited for restoration, illusion, and enchanting. Once you are better, I would be perfectly willing to teach you restoration. Julianos knows Skyrim needs more restoration mages.”

Her voice trailed off slightly at that last sentence, but she quickly brightened back up and turned to address Relthreyn.

“That Daedric sword of yours, Dawnbreaker? It seems to have a rejuvenating effect on her, so I suggest you expose it to her as much as possible.”

With that last statement, the mage left the room, saying that she would be back in a few hours to check up on her again.

Why did she have access to magic? And in such specific branches?

Relthryen’s contemplative voice interrupted her thoughts.

“It must have been Meridia. She said that she would connect you to Aetherious.”

Yes. That seemed like so long ago 

She had said that she would connect Naya to Aetherious, but she also said that she would bestow upon her a blessing.

What was that blessing and what did it do?

.


End file.
